William Fischer

The old boys that told me stories when I was young, prefaced with “You wont want to listen to an old man” but I did though their advice, to “watch and wait” cannot be taken in youth when are things to do, money to make so as to attract women with whom one develops intense and meaningful relationships.




I did listen. About the job in Yemen: “Don’t apply for that unless you intend to go because they most likely will offer it to you.” I applied, I went, I learnt, rather quickly how ruthless and corrupt are the organs of the British state, or were in those days, those days of yore. I learnt the trade.



In Dar es Salaam I said no, I won’t, it is not my job, not what I am paid for. John, from behind his large and empty desk, on the fifth floor of the High Comm said: “You will. It can take time, I think not long, but however long, you will agree. The idea of a free Englishman is a myth”. True, I had accepted the job, would go on to get a mortgage on the strength of it.



He was very right, in those days of telex machines- the cough and sudden urgent chatter, provoking us to stare at the distantly controlled keys chattering, the message:



“After further consideration I advise you, strongly, that it would be in the best interests of the Crown and the best interests of yourself to do as these people tell you. Regards, Stuart.



“Well”, I said to John, "You were right". He said “You won’t see me again I have another posting”.



Yet what do you learn, what is it possible to learn? Not much.



I now know, I am told, I have seen the orange uniform snap, that William Fischer is a crook and was even then. As yet I do not know if Cathryn AlKannan is a knowing accomplice or simply the naive beneficiary of dodgy money. I have a view, that she is a very knowing crook, but that is a view leaned upon by the insult. Cathryn would look most fetching in an orange jumpsuit.

One lives the cards that are dealt or any other platitude we use for lifes fortunes and misadventures. My connection of Phil Winter, bristle mosutaches, the Crown  Agent who sent me to Yemen, John Rundel, a very clean shaven kind of useless spy, William Fischer, a conman who could con because he had the momentary funds to widen the eyes, if it was those he widened in Cathryn Alkanaan, are my own elusive connections: my own sense. Cathryn is by this criteria a good enemy, Once a freind, close enough to cuddle, as the best enemies are, hard bitten, righteous, very hard to get. And of course, since this is a public fiction, and a story of spies, the Karlos is beyond AlKanaan, one step more. A enemy must be long in the making to quench the sense of guilt.